


Hush, Little Lamb

by deepestfathoms



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Caffeine Addiction, Caffeine Overdose, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Isolation, Self-Hatred, Sickfic, Sleep Deprivation, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 22:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21381532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms
Summary: As music director, Joan was naturally pulled away from everyone for her job. Unfortunately, that starts to do more harm than good, starting with the fact that she doesn’t seem to sleep. Ever.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Hush, Little Lamb

Joan has gotten used to being alone. She’s gotten used to everyone going out or just going home to sleep after a show, while she was left behind to work even longer at the theater. She’s gotten used to everyone making plans and excluding her because they already knew she was going to be busy. She’s gotten used to being forgotten.

That’s just how it was. She’s accepted it.

Besides, she had other things to worry about. Like the show! The show is what she worried about the most, actually. It’s become her whole world, whether she liked it or not.

(_She didn’t like it she didn’t like it at all she wanted this damn shitshow to end already she so badly wants to be free she wants to be free she wants to be free why won’t they let her go free-_)

That being said, Joan’s had her fair share of sleepless nights. Usually they’re three days of work straight and then a few days of rest. Right now, however, it’s five days and the only thing keeping her going is caffeine pills. She still drinks several cups of coffee, but the pills are what really give her the kick she needed.

Naturally, this wasn’t that good for her body.

Joan started to feel sick the moment she arrived at the theater early that morning to set up. Her entire body felt like it was vibrating, rattling around her rib cage and making her heart beat way too fast. Her breath comes out in quick gasps and gulps, and her hands are jittering in an unnatural way.

Being herself, however, she shrugged it off. Like usual, her work was more important than her health.

That’s how it always was. It wasn’t only her who thought that, anyway.

Joan rubbed her itchy eyes, but it didn’t help a bit. Her vision was still hazy and it certainly didn’t help her growing headache. She rested her head in her hands, staring at the many unfinished papers sprawled on the table in her dressing room/office space. She didn’t have time to wallow in fatigue. She picked one of the papers and plucked up her pen with fumbling fingers.

_ **BAM. BAM. BAM.** _

Joan dropped her pen in shock, sending black ink droplets onto the paper. She growled and stood up abruptly, immediately regretting this rash action when her head spun. She had no choice but to wait a moment and press her palms against her eyes. While she did so, she wondered about who the hell was knocking so damn loud. And why didn’t they just come in? Well, at least whoever-it-was had some respect.

“He-e-ey, Joanie!”

Nevermind.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?“ Joan growled.

Anne gave her a weird look as she invited herself into the dressing room. She shook her head, still wearing her beaming grin that was really starting to annoy Joan.

“Came here to tell you that Maud needed you.” Anne said. Then, she studies Joan’s grey face. “You look horrible.”

“Why thank you. It took me a week or so to look like this, but I think it was worth it.”

“You’ve been like this for a week?” Anne asked, “Why don’t you take a break or something?”

“Did you come here to criticize my way of living?”

“No,” Said Anne. She’s seen her fair share of agitated, sleep deprived women (mainly Parr), so she knew better than to prod. “Got any food? I’m famished. Ara and Jane are bringing something, but I don’t really wanna wait.”

“I have coffee.” Joan said shortly.

Anne made a face. “That bitter gross stuff? That’s not even food! What do you want to do, poison me?”

“Alas, my schemes have been foiled.” Joan sighed, “Back to the drawing board, then.”

Anne’s eyebrows furrowed a little, but she didn’t get to stay any longer, as Joan was already herding her back into the hallway. She watched the girl grab a mug of coffee and then exit the room to go find Maud.

“Uhh, Joan?”

“What?”

“Wrong direction.”

“…Oh.”

—————

Joan’s stomach was a pit of angry snakes. It hurt so badly, but all she could really do was hold it when she wasn’t playing her keyboard.

She always thought the flashing lights in the show were too much, but now she really believed that. Even when she shut her eyes, she could still see the colors flickering and blinding her. They were making her even more nauseous and, right about now, she was at risk of vomiting all over her keyboard.

And that was something she would never be able to live down.

Joan clenched a fist over her abdomen as it cramps again. She blinks back tears of pain, trying to keep herself together because she knows if she breaks she won’t be able to piece herself back together. Without a support system, she would remain shattered.

(She used to have one. Jane, Bessie, Maria, and Maggie. But now she’s pushed them away, and they’ve given up on her. They have realized that she cares more about work than she cares about them, so they don’t try anymore.

Nobody tries anymore.)

A tiny whimper bubbles forth. Joan’s doubled over on her keyboard, head angled down, so she doesn’t notice how Maggie turns around to look up at her. There’s worry glinting in the guitarist’s eyes, but she misses that, too.

—————

Joan barely makes it back to her dressing room. She collapses into the chair at the table, curling her entire body around her cramped stomach. Her forehead burns, as does every organ inside of her, but she can’t dwell on it right now. Once she uncoils herself, she has to start working.

It’s always time to work.

—————

“Has anyone seen Joan?” Bessie asked, peeking in Jane’s dressing room. She notices Anne in there, chatting with Katherine, and the green queen gets a slight concerned look in her eyes.

“I thought she went back to her dressing room,” Parr said.

“Right.” Bessie nodded. She went to slip out, but another comment halted her.

“She was acting really weird this morning,” Anne said.

“How so?” Jane titled her head. Her maternal instincts have been activated.

“Like,” Anne’s hands flutter as she searches for the right words, “She was really hostile and looked tired. Not herself, I mean.”

Bessie and Jane exchange worried looks. Since they were both mother figures to the girl, this was concerning to hear.

“Yeah,” Katherine piped up, “I noticed her all hunched over a lot during the show. Is she okay?”

“We’re going to find that out.” Jane said before exiting the room, Bessie following right behind her.

As Parr had suggested, Joan was in her dressing room. She was also still in her costume, which was strange because who would want to be in that thing any longer than they had to?

Jane circled around to one side of Joan, noting the sweat glistening on her face and how her eyes were half open but she wasn’t really awake.

“Joan?”

The girl didn’t answer, just kept staring down at the mess of papers strewn across her table. Jane rubbed up and down her back, trying to rouse her a little more.

“Joan? Joan, sweetheart, you need to wake up for me. You can’t sleep here.”

“Mmmmm….” Joan groaned. Her eyes blink open and she looked at Jane, then glanced over to Bessie, who has appeared on the other side of her. The bassist wasn’t looking at her, however, but the papers on her table. She even had a few in her hands. That was enough to snap Joan to wakefulness.

“Don’t touch that!” Joan yelped, snatching the papers away and startling both Jane and Bessie. The two women exchange looks of motherly worry.

“What happened here?” Bessie asked, nodding at the desk, “It’s a mess.”

“I don’t know!” Joan cried. She felt a lump in his throat. "Too much happened! Everyone expects me to do everything they throw at me! If it’s not writing remixes or mashups, then it’s dealing with music issues, and if it’s not music issues, it’s problems with tech even though I’m not the tech director and-” She felt tears of frustration well up in her eyes and became even more upset with herself. God, what was wrong with her? Couldn’t she keep her cool for one second? She buried her face in her hands and let out a muted shout of indignation. If she didn’t feel so horrible she would punch out all her glass windows by now.

“Hey, sweetie, calm down,” Bessie said, “Things happen all the time to everyone.”

“But this is bad,” Joan mumbled. “I can’t even do what’s asked of me…”

Bessie glanced over at the great stack of papers on Joan’s desk. She reached over to grab one. Joan gasped in panic.

“Wait!” Joan shouted. She tugged on Bessie’s sleeve to keep her from reaching the desk. “Don’t read them— it’s fine. Whatever. Nothing important.”

Bessie raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have to find out sooner or later, won’t I?”

“Yeah but—some of it’s uh, different things,” Joan stammered. She casts a distressed glance at the forbidden papers on her desk, worrying about the possibilities if Bessie or Jane read through the words of self hatred written on them. “Private. Shouldn’t you guys go home?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Jane crossed her arms. “Wait… When have you last slept?”

“I’m fine. Just a couple more hours. I’ve gone longer without sleep.” Joan said, attempting to dodge the question.

“Joan Morgan Seymour-Blount.” Jane said in warning, “WHEN did you last sleep?”

At the use of her middle and last name, Joan flinched. She hated when Jane used that sharp tone with her.

“That isn’t my last name,” She mumbled instead of answering again.

“You-”

Joan saw Jane’s fists ball up and watched as the queen closed her eyes and took deep, calming breaths.

“You know what? Fine! Let’s go, Elizabeth. She clearly doesn’t need our help.”

Jane turned away and strode out of the room like a dark grey lightning storm. Bessie followed, but not without a quick glower over her shoulder. Once they’re gone, Joan swiveled back around in her chair and continued to work, this time with tears dotting the papers.

(Jane and Bessie would never treat Katherine or Maggie like that.)

—————

Joan didn’t even take off all of her clothes when she trudged into the theater shower. She was crying, maybe. Crying under an ice cold rain in her itchy costume.

—————

Anna had found Joan in the showers and alerted Jane and Bessie, who, despite their annoyance earlier on, went to go watch over the girl. They loitered around out by the sinks after checking to make sure Joan was okay or alive at the very least. Saying they were worried would be an understatement.

The girl who stepped out of the stall was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was a tangled blonde mop upon her head, matted from the water. Mascara and makeup were running down her face, gliding over some picked off portions of her cheek, courtesy of Joan’s dermatillomania. Her entire costume was soaked and didn’t look comfortable while wet. She was trembling like a leaf in the wind, teeth chattering, staring up at nothing in particular.

Joan looked more like a corpse than a living, breathing person.

It was Bessie who offered her coat and got a towel while Jane guided Joan over to the sink. Bessie, as gently as possible, wiped Joan off, murmuring comforting things to her while she did so.

Joan couldn’t speak. She tried to, but no words came out of her mouth. Her jaw just hung half open as she stared at the wall with a dazed expression. She was almost completely unresponsive, almost like her body was shutting down. Jane and Bessie could have done anything they wanted to her at that moment and she would have let them.

“Oh, Jane, she’s burning up.” Bessie said after feeling the girl’s forehead.

“Joan,” Jane murmured, keeping her voice soft, “When did you last sleep?”

“Five…” Joan mumbled, “Five…days..”

Jane gasped softly and Bessie sighed. Joan could feel the disappointment wavering off of them and that made fresh tears roll down her cheeks.

“How have you been staying awake?” Bessie asked.

“Caffeine pills.” Joan answered, seeing no reason to lie anymore. “Coffee didn’t work anymore… Well it did, but not well enough. I just needed a few more hours…” She noticed Jane and Bessie exchange looks and shrunk backwards, whimpering as the flow of tears grew faster. The older pair turned back to her.

“Shh, shh,” Jane murmured, wiping away her tears, “We aren’t angry, sweetheart. I promise. We aren’t mad.”

“You’re disappointed,” Joan choked out, “Of course you’re disappointed. I’m a mess and a failure and-” Warm arms encircled her freezing, shaking body and she found her face smothered in Bessie’s shoulder. That made her cry even harder, especially when Jane joined the embrace.

Joan’s heart was beating too fast. Sobbing like this makes it even harder to breathe and that makes her feel worse. The pain in her stomach becomes more extremes. She needed to sit down right now.

The girl slipped from Jane and Bessie’s arms, sinking down to her knees on the cold, dirty floor, but she could hardly care about sanitation because she was definitely about to vomit on herself.

“Hey, honey, you can’t rest here.” Bessie said, “Come on, we’ll take you home, yeah?”

“No,” Joan protested, “No, no, please…please just…just lemme…rest for a few….” Her stomach cramps again and she whimpered softly.

“I think she has a caffeine overdose.” Jane said to Bessie, who nodded grimly. “Poor thing…”

Joan feels like she’s vibrating. Her entire body is rocking to a rhythm that’s being conducted by the caffeine pumping through her entire body. She was starting to see spots and everything was spinning and-

She was definitely going to be sick.

“Joan!” Jane cried when she saw the music director leap up and sprint at an alarming speed for someone who was sick. She took a step to go after her, but stopped when she saw the girl careen into one of the bathroom stalls and start retching. She winced and looked to Bessie, who had the same saddened expression.

“Joan?” Bessie called out.

“Go a-_way_,” Joan replied.

“Joan, we’re not-”

“Go away!” Joan cried, which was followed by horrid coughing and gagging, “Please…please go away… Please…”

Jane and Bessie exchange looks. In fairness, Joan was retching pretty loudly and violently- they certainly wouldn’t want someone hearing them throwing up like that.

“We’ll be outside.” Jane said before she and Bessie left.

True to their word, they stayed outside the bathroom, waiting. Although they couldn’t hear Joan being sick, they could finally hear her agonized wailing and crying. The poor thing just couldn’t seem to take the stress anymore.

Joan finally broke.

Five minutes pass.

Then ten.

Then fifteen.

Then twenty.

Still no sign of Joan and if she was even okay.

Jane and Bessie wanted to respect the girl’s wishes and privacy, but they were starting to get worried. So, being the natural mother hens they were, they both peeked back in.

“Joan?” Jane called out.

Nothing. Not even a whimper or a gag.

“Joan? Are you okay, honey?” Bessie tried.

Still nothing.

The two of them exchange looks, then Jane stepped forward. She walks to the stall Joan had been in, pushed open the door, and gasped.

“Bessie.” Jane said, not taking her eyes off Joan laying unconscious in a pool of her own vomit, “Go get my keys. We need to get her to the hospital, _NOW_.”

—————

Gastric lavage sucked. The doctors said there was way too much caffeine in Joan’s system. A dangerous amount, especially with the pills she had taken. Even if she threw up a lot, pumping out her stomach would be the best choice.

Joan was a whimpering mess throughout most of it. The tube down her throat and in her stomach was already incredibly uncomfortable, but the suctioning sensation it was causing made it even worse. She just wanted to be in her mother’s arms. Bessie or Jane. She didn’t care who.

She wished she hadn’t pushed them away.

—————

Tears drip down Joan’s cheeks as she sobs into her pillow. The feeling of that damn tube down her throat has yet to go away and all she wishes right now is for Jane or Bessie or both to hold her.

But they wouldn’t. Why would they? She’s a mess.

Joan knew they both cared, Joan knew they both saw her like a daughter, but that didn’t mean they had the patience to put up with everything. She _saw_ the exhaustion in their eyes, she _saw_ the agitation and the irritation at how bad she’s gotten. They’re reaching their wits end. Joan needed to learn that people had limits real fast.

But maybe not right now.

She just looks so pathetic, sweat sticking her hair in every direction, beads of sweat glued to her face.

She tries to stand once she got out of bed (as in: rolling out and slamming into the floor), taking one step before collapsing to the ground. She then resorted to crawling, hoping no one sees her as she guided herself in the darkness, up the stairs, and to the nearest door.

In front of her was Bessie, laying on her side with her head resting on one arm and her black hair sprawled wildly in her face, which looked peaceful. She was having a nice, dreamless sleep as Joan crept up to her bedside.

“Bessie,” Joan whined, tugging at Bessie’s pajamas before pushing her side to side to wake her up.

“What’s the matter?” Bessie mumbled, eyes still closed as she made no signs of moving.

“I need you.” Joan doesn’t even care about her dignity at this point.

“Okay. It’s like two the morning, can it wait?”

It was actually three in the morning, but pretty close.

“I really don’t feel good.”

Joan waited for Bessie to bolt up, to ask what was wrong, to care for her, but she doesn’t.

“What’s hurts?” Bessie asked in a sigh. A sigh of annoyance, Joan knows.

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick.” Joan whispered, her confidence draining when Bessie doesn’t seem to care, “I feel really nauseous, but my body doesn’t want me to throw up. I feel horrible.”

“Joan, listen,” Bessie finally sat up, rubbing her eyes, “I really don’t know what to tell you. You did this to yourself. Just- make yourself throw up. Maybe that’ll help? Try it. Please just- let me sleep.”

Other people needed sleep. Of course they did. Just because Joan couldn’t doesn’t mean she needs to make others suffer the same way.

Weakly, she nodded and staggered out of the room, somehow managing the strength to stand. Right before she exits, she hears Bessie mutter, “Finally” before collapsing back into her blankets.

Joan calls Jane. In fact, she calls three times, but hangs up instantly when the first thing she hears Jane say is, _“What?_” in a sharp, annoyed voice.

Nobody cares.

Joan collapses into the chair at her desk. She downs two caffeine pills and gets to work. Not on music director business, no. She was going to work on the papers she doesn’t like people seeing. The ones filled with scrawled, poetic words of self deprecation and hatred.

Her stress relievers, if you will.

The shaking of her hands and the tears bleeding into the parchment makes it hard to write, though. Her body is begging her to sleep, but she just can’t listen. She glances at the clock. Almost four in the morning. That makes this the sixth day she’s been awake.

She laughs at that. Six days of no sleep…the show is called Six…

Technically, there’s ten of them, though.

But it might be nine, soon. If she can’t rest and let her body heal.

For some reason, nine sounds better than ten…

Joan doesn’t sleep. Not really, she dozes in a half awake state but doesn’t sleep.

When morning comes, nobody checks on her. Her bandmates don’t do that anymore. It’s a waste of time, since she’s usually out of town or at the theater already, anyway.

Nobody cares about her.

Joan knows she’s not going to work that day. She gets a disappointed text from her director and a few annoyed ones from other crew members, but she doesn’t bother reading them. What does it matter in the long run? She’s already been slacking from lack of sleep. It won’t be long until she’s fired.

Once Maggie, Maria, and Bessie have left (without even saying goodbye or texting her at the very least), Joan staggers her way upstairs and crawls into Bessie’s bed. She hugs one of the pillows close to her chest and inhales the bassist’s comforting scent.

(Jasmine. Bessie always smells like jasmine.)

Joan smiled weakly as tears rolled down her cheeks. She snuggled up in the soft grey blankets and started playing a fantasy in her head. Jane and Bessie were there with her, caring for her, telling her how much they loved her. If she thought hard enough, she could almost feel their fingers stroking through her tangled, oily hair.

(It’s been two weeks since she’s showered.)

Smiling a broken smile and knowing she’s ruined her relationship with everyone she’s ever loved, Joan blacks out while crying.


End file.
